


100(+) Words of Justice League

by Apricot



Category: Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons)
Genre: Ficlet, Multi, Short & Sweet, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-11-30 21:45:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11472300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apricot/pseuds/Apricot
Summary: Short ficlets/scenes in the Justice League/JLU Universe. Are mostly longer than 100 words because the author has no discipline.1. 100+ words ofzero gravity.(WW & Superman & Batman, gen)2. 100+ words ofweapons.(WW/Batman)3. 100+ words ofvampire au.(Huntress/Question)





	1. Zero-Gravity

“I don’t need _help.”_

“Suit yourself.” The tinge of disapproval in Clark’s voice was clear, but it was ignored.

The issue: the rules of gravity had _always_ been part of his calculations when it came to being airborne. It was an application of force proportional to the product of mass versus the distance between…well, the point was that he wasn’t used to free-floating.

Unlike, obviously, Superman and Wonder Woman. Superman was braced against the Watchtower’s broken console, more to keep it from floating away than himself as Batman got his bearings. The gravity generator was drifting aimlessly just below his feet.

Diana floated a little closer. “I could hold—“

“I’ve got _it,”_ he snapped, shifting quickly away—an ill-advised maneuver, as it sent him drifting slowly in the opposite direction of the console and left his cape to float gently in front of his face.

Diana suppressed a smile.


	2. Weapons

“This isn’t what we bet.”

“You mean,” Diana murmured, from somewhere behind him. “—this isn’t exactly how you’d thought this would go.” She slipped back into his view, a faint smile flicking over her mouth. “A deal’s a deal.”

Bruce scowled at her, and tested the bonds around his wrists. She’d tied them tightly, pulled back behind him as he sat in the chair, but he could slip this. He might need to disconnect a wrist, maybe, to do it, but he could.

He’d been _itching_ to inspect this lasso for years now. Diana had always rebuffed him, and out of professional courtesy, he’d stopped asking. But after the debacle with the Injustice Gang, and how he’d told the others about how he’d slipped his restraints early on during his capture, an opportunity had arisen. Diana had expressed _doubt_ that he could do the same with the Justice League. The comment had grated him. So he'd taken the bet.

If he could get free of this lasso, he could keep it for a week.

It was an opportunity for intel he couldn’t pass up.

He slowly shifted, relaxing and then tensing his wrists to loosen the knot she’d made. “Fine. A deal’s a…”

The lasso felt strangely warm. And the half-inch of slack he’d gained just now suddenly _shrunk._

Diana smiled at him, before she dragged the other chair by his console closer to his, and sat down. She crossed her legs as she watched him. “Not as easy as you’d thought it would be, is it?”

“ _I’ve been in—“_ he started, but the final word trailed and then choked in his throat. He swallowed, and tried to finish it.

“—more compromising positions?” She looked amused, damn her. “Oh, I don’t doubt it.”

Fine. He arched his back subtly. If an honest method didn’t work, he had more than few others in his repertoire.

“So it’s some kind of restricting material.” He spoke aloud even as he pressed the bond against the edge of the chair. “Shrinks when it has slack. To keep people from slipping it.”

“It keeps you from slipping it because I’m willing it to hold you,” Diana said, her eyes flicking to the way his arm muscles were tensing now. “And it won’t cut, either, if that’s what you’re trying next.”

_They’d see about that._

“I’m—“ _not,_ he wanted to say, but the word choked off again and a flicker of confusion made his jaw tighten.

She smiled serenely at him. “Do you want to give up?”

“No.”

“What are you trying to do now?”

He ignored her. Or…he tried to.

The lasso suddenly warmed his wrists again, and the sudden pressure on his mind made him nearly bite his tongue. The shock of it made him halt his movements. “I unscrewed one of the chair bolts now and I’m using it to work some slack into the rope again.”

The confession was…involuntary. He threw a sharp look at her.

“My name is… _” Clark Kent,_ he tried to say. _Alfred Pennyworth. Dick Grayson._

None of the names made it to his lips, although he willed them, nearly got the syllables past his throat before he shuddered.

It was doing something…doing something to him, and he could feel it. It was preventing him from speaking, somehow. Anything that was...a lie.

That particular property would be far more useful to the Justice League than any sort of weapon or  _binding_ , and he threw a look at Diana.

"You don't just will it to hold people, do you."

"I've been told it can do more than that." She leaned forward, watching him, before she smiled. "Don't worry, Bruce. I'm not going to ask you any deep, dark, personal questions. That wouldn't be right."

Her reassurance didn't make him feel less uneasy. He jerked his wrists sharply, as if he could just surprise it into letting him go, and caught the edge of her smile.

"Stop that," he snapped. She raised an eyebrow.

"Stop what?"

The lasso warmed his wrists again, and this time he put his considerable strength into it. It failed to budge the knot at all. " _Smiling."_

"What's wrong with smiling?"

"It's distracting."

The words again, unbidden. He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, feeling an unfamiliar heat flush his skin-- this time on his face.  _Concentrate._ The rope altered his mind. That was it. He had to work through it. He could work through it. 

Diana's voice was soft. "Do you want me to stop distracting you, then?"

The answer leapt to his tongue and this time he managed to bite it back. He gritted his teeth, clinging to the word with the very tips of his fingernails, resisting the press of the lasso.

Or at least, he did before he opened his eyes again and saw her, leaning a few more inches closer to him. Surprise flickered over her face, and then something...she looked impressed. But then she arched an eyebrow and he felt the answering tug through the lasso,  _through him_ , from the pit of his gut up to his vocal cords. 

"Do you want me to stop distracting you, Bruce?"

" _No."_


	3. Vampires

There were some people on the Watchtower that called Question paranoid.  
  
Okay...a lot of people called him paranoid. Also delusional, a crackpot, and a host of other unpleasant little nicknames he catalogued but didn’t pay attention to. He didn’t mind them. Because for every thousand theories he couldn’t prove definitively, sometimes,  _sometimes_ , he was right.  
  
Like right now.  
  
She had him by the throat, one gloved hand forcing his jaw up and away so his temple pressed hard against damp brick. From far away, he could feel the pulse there throbbing-- throbbing in time with the carotid artery and the rhythm draw of her mouth, greedy against his skin.  
  
Yes, he was right. He tried to take some solace in that.  
  
He’d fought back, of course, but she’d had the drop on him from the beginning.  _Stupid_. He was used to Gotham as his home turf, but he forgot sometimes that it didn’t give up its shadowy secrets easily. Now she had him pinned, and every muscle in him was frozen-- _a_   _paralytic? Simple fear?_  
  
She smelled of rain and sweat and copper, and beneath that...beneath that, a lingering, musky perfume he’d noticed before. On the Watchtower. The swallowing pulls of her mouth were making him feel heady and dazed. He shivered, and she moaned a little in his arms-- his arms had somehow fallen around her, how had that happened?  
  
Her curves were pressing against him, though, fitting against his body in a way that made warning signs flash through his brain as he fought to keep his breathing even.   
  
Just as he began to sink back against the brick, she jerked away, her lips bloody, lashes wet-- he was close enough to see them even with the mask. And she smiled at him.  
  
 _Vampires_. Vampires in Gotham. He’d known it, and here was the proof, and yet he couldn’t think of anything except the black of her eyes and that smile.  
  
“How many?” he managed, and Huntress laughed.  
  
“That’s your question? Not, am I gonna kill you? Or something stupid like that?”  
  
“That  _would be_  stupid.”  
  
“Hmmm,” Huntress said, slowly easing out of his arms as she wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb and then sucked it clean. Question noticed-- a little dazed but still in possession of most of his facilities-- that she’d removed a glove and her hand was delicately-boned, but for the callouses she’d developed as an archer. “Enough of us that you really don’t need to worry about it.”  
  
“Batman,” Question guessed. That had been his working theory. The theory that had first led him down the streets of Gotham. He hadn’t been so stupid to pursue it on the Watchtower, where the Bat spent little time and his guard was always up and there weren’t as many opportunities for clues.   
  
Huntress made a sound that wasn’t like affirmation or denial.  
  
“Did he send you after me?”  
  
She ignored that too, for a second, before glancing at him. “No, the opposite, actually. He told me to stay away from you. To be honest, I think he likes you, Q.”  
  
Question’s mind spun, fitting in piece into place. “But you exposed yourself anyway-- why?”  
  
Huntress laughed softly, teeth a faint red stain in the darkness.   
  
“Because sometimes you gotta just say screw the rules.”  
  
Gingerly, he placed a hand to his throat, feeling the throb of the neck wound, already closed over-- already healing. “And what are you planning...on doing with me?”  
  
She was tugging her glove back on, checking her side weapon, before she looked up and smirked at him-- a smirk that made his pulse stutter. “Oh, the night is young, baby doll. Let’s see where it takes us.”


End file.
